Carol
by rscoil
Summary: E/C modern AU fluff with a Christmas flavor


"Hello, handsome."

Erik rolled his eyes as Christine stepped over the threshold. "You should consider an eye exam."

"My eyes are perfectly functional, thank you. 20/20 vision." She stood on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Besides, if I tell you often enough, maybe one day you'll believe me."

He wound his arms around her waist. "Doubtful, but I wouldn't mind if you kept trying."

"Of course."

"If you will excuse me, dinner is almost done." He vanished without further comment.

She sighed as she knelt to unzip her boots. It wouldn't do to leave him with a puddle of melted snow, even if the tiny foyer had a tile floor.

She often thought that Erik's house was rather like its owner. The entrance was efficient and functional, but closed off and unwelcoming. The further one went in the house, the more surprises each room held.

She walked right past the room he called the dining room and she called project central. The grand table was covered with building plans and sketches. Three monitors circled the head of the table and she could see his work laptop blinking in its docking station. It was only a dining room if he ate while he was working.

She wandered into the kitchen, where he was pulling a tray of warm rolls from the oven. Music played softly from hidden speakers.

"Erik, is this Christmas music?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Nothing. I just never guessed you were into Christmas."

"I'm not." He sat down at the two person table, where she quickly joined him.

"Then why play the music?"

"Christine, some of the most beautiful music in the world was written for religious purposes. I might not be terribly religious, but that doesn't mean I don't find it fascinating."

"But Christmas music? So much of it is, if you'll forgive me, not your style."

He shrugged. "I didn't say all of it was good, or that I even like all of it. Much of it is forgettable, but that's true for any genre. But the stuff that isn't?" He grinned. "I'd argue that the most surefire way to achieve immortality as a musician is to make a good Christmas song. Think about it. How many people listen to big bands and crooners on a regular basis? Of those people, how many do you think also listen to classical, pop, and rock in the same mix? But at Christmas, it doesn't matter. Everyone is in the same pot, and the old favorites are played alongside the new ones."

"So," she grinned at him, "does that mean you're writing me a Christmas song?"

"Heavens, no. I have, however, been working on a few piano arrangements that will complement your voice. If you will indulge me, that is."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Of course, love. Just let me finish my dinner first."

* * *

"I have a surprise for you."

"Is the surprise that you're going to turn on a light?"

His soft laughter filled the darkness. "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

Christine reached the bottom of the steps that led to his basement music room. "I can't see anything."

"I'm right here." His hand slid around hers, cool and gentle. She jumped slightly at the touch, but kept her hand in his.

"Trust me." His voice spoke from the darkness, filled with the warmth his hands lacked.

One step, and then another, she followed him into the shadows.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

She heard the soft flick of a light switch and suddenly the room was alight. Thousands of fairy lights shone around them. It was a miniature galaxy and she stood in the midst of it.

He stood beside her, a nervous smile barely visible beneath the mask. "Do you like it?"

"It's incredible. You did all this for me?"

He chuckled as he headed for his stereo. "One could say that. I seem to remember a complaint about my candle collection. Something about a fire hazard?"

He leaned down to place a record on the turntable and guided the needle into place. The polished wood of the console took on a warm glow in the twinkling lights. His silhouette stood in contrast with the magic of the lights, a slip of darkness in this world of light.

Her arms slid around him and he relaxed against her. Nearly a year of coaxing, but he was finally accustomed to her touch.

He brought her hand to his lips. "I was thinking. Perhaps it's time I get comfortable with you seeing me."

She peered up at him. "We've discussed this, love. That's your choice. Always." She hugged him tighter and felt him sigh.

He nodded and removed the mask with trembling hands.

Christine didn't bat an eye. The molten flesh still caught her attention, but not as much as the anxious eyes looking down at her.

She moved in front of him. "Can I have a kiss?"

His eyes widened, but he nodded. Gone was the man she'd kissed earlier. That man let her kiss him with all of the comfort of a daily routine. This man stood rigidly, as though waiting for a blow. His arms hung at his sides like they'd forgotten how to hold her.

But those lips...they were the same lips she'd kissed a million times. So what if the face was different? They belonged to the same man.

She cupped his cheek as she always did, pleased to feel skin instead of the mask. She kissed him sweetly before pressing herself to his chest.

"Dance with me?"

He gave no sign that he heard her. She simply held him as she swayed in time with the music. Song after song until the album was over. She heard the arm return to its original position and then silence reigned.

"You really are remarkable, Christine."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Brave. Compassionate. Patient. Easily the best thing to ever happen to me. Should I go on?"

His arms finally moved into a natural embrace and circled her waist. "You asked me earlier about Christmas music. Did I mention my favorite?"

She shook her head.

"You remind me of it, you know. Awe-inspiring and beautiful." He smiled. "It takes on deeper meaning with you in my life."

And he sang, his voice all around her. It was a song she'd heard a thousand times, but never like this. She could feel the notes in her soul.

His voice built as the music swelled. She was sure he was the Angel of Music. There was nothing in the world but his song. And then his voice was soft in her ear, bringing the piece to a close. Surely the angels wept for that final phrase.

"O Night Divine."


End file.
